


Uneven

by blitzturtles



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Disability, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, hypermobility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 01:49:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19415986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blitzturtles/pseuds/blitzturtles
Summary: Crowley regrets waking up the moment his eyes open. He hadn’t meant to sleep long, and the whole point had been for him to wake up feeling a bit more rested for his evening with Aziraphale. Instead, all he can think about is how much every joint from his hips down aches miserably.





	Uneven

**Author's Note:**

> I drew inspiration from this post https://goodm-omen-ts.tumblr.com/post/185867330186 on tumblr, and my own real life woke-up-from-a-nap-aching-like-hell experience. Hypermobility is real fun, guys.

Crowley regrets waking up the moment his eyes open. He hadn’t meant to sleep long, and the whole point had been for him to wake up feeling a bit more rested for his evening with Aziraphale. Instead, all he can think about is how much every joint from his hips down aches miserably. 

The problem with old, improperly healed injuries is that they linger. He can’t heal away the pain the way he can with something fresh. 

His body is 6000 years old, so it isn’t surprising that parts of it aren’t what they used to be. Besides that, his hips have always sat unevenly, which has resulted in what he calls his ‘swagger’. The problem with that is that it has taken its toll on his knees and ankles from the stress and overcompensation.

It’s days like these that he regrets having arms and legs, but shifting now won’t ease the discomfort. He’s tried that in the past. Somehow it’s worse in his snake form.

He spends a while trying to rub the worst of it away with little success. He could call his angel and let him know that he needs a rain check, but that’s bound to make Aziraphale worry. Then again, he might not have an option given his current situation. He’s not sure he can fake normalcy all night long, and something else he knows from experience is that alcohol doesn’t do much for this pain. 

Crowley spends another thirty minutes debating with himself the best course of action. In the end, he settles for calling Aziraphale. He sees no other choice, and it’s not as if he’s getting back to sleep anytime soon. 

Of course Aziraphale fusses over the phone instantly. Crowley doesn’t have to tell him the complete story for his angel to understand that their plans for the evening are no longer viable, and that the reason for that is because of Crowley’s discomfort. 

His angel appears shortly thereafter with a small frown and a bag hanging from his shoulder. “I thought we might give these a try,” he starts as he begins to dig through the bag. He pulls out a few boxes and places them on the bed next to Crowley. “These as well,” this time a set of what looks like over sized bean bags emerge from the seemingly bottomless bag. 

“What _are_ they?”

“Oh, well these,” Aziraphale picks up one of the boxes, “Are compression braces. The nice woman at the pharmacy said that they would be quite helpful. Then she gave me directions to another shop that makes these,” now Aziraphale grabs for one of the beanbags, “By hand. They’re essentially heating pads, but they’re made for aromatherapy also.”

Crowley blinks at Aziraphale. Less out of surprise that his angel had gone out of his way, and more at how quickly he had managed to do so. 

“Here, let me help you with these,” Aziraphale says, evidently oblivious to Crowley’s amazement. He opens each of the boxes, so that, in total, there are two knee braces and two ankle braces. 

It takes them a couple of tries to figure out which direction is up, and how each of the straps secures. The ankle braces are far easier, given that they’re more or less sleeves that slip on, but Crowley can’t bend his legs enough to do that on his own, much to his unending frustration.

“Honestly, I don’t mind, my dear,” Aziraphale reassures. He has far less trouble getting them situated. 

Aziraphale excuses himself for a moment after that, leaving Crowley to sit there with his new braces. In one way, he’s impressed by how much they help. In another, it frustrates him that he can’t even pull on what might as well be toe-less socks on his own. He’s a demon for Someone’s sake. He shouldn’t be so inept, particularly not when he’s already put a major kink in their plans for the evening. Aziraphale shouldn’t have to nurse or nanny him. 

Crowley nearly forgets about his frustrations when Aziraphale comes back and carefully places each of the heating pads to cover his hips, knees, and ankles. He lets his back sink into the bed instead of trying to keep upright. The relief is near tangible.

Aziraphale smiles fondly as he watches him. “I’m glad that they appear to be helping,” he says gently. Without much else to do, he settles on the edge of the bed and offers Crowley a water bottle.

Crowley raises an eyebrow at him, but he takes it without protest. So far everything else has helped, why not a bit of water?

“Hydration,” Aziraphale says simply. 

They’re both quiet for a few minutes. Crowley downs half the water bottle before replacing the cap. He sets it on the bed between them and leans back against the mattress with his eyes closed. He might be able to sleep now, which reminds him that his angel is beside him still.

“You don’t have to stay,” he feels guilty enough without forcing Aziraphale to sit about, bored to tears.

“I don’t mind,” Aziraphale says in a way that makes it sound like a promise. “I truly don’t, my dear boy. The Ritz? Here? The location is trivial.” He smiles that stupidly sweet smile of his that always has Crowley melting on the inside.

“I’m probably going to sleep,” Crowley says as a last effort to protest.

“I’m probably going to read,” Aziraphale answers easily. “If you don’t mind sharing a bit of your bed, that is.”

“No.” 

Crowley tries to scoot over, but he knocks over more than one heating pad. He misses it almost instantly.

“I’ll help you.”

The two work together, and it does take some effort, but they get it worked out in the end. Mostly it’s a matter of getting Crowley situated where he pleases and simply resituated the pads after the fact. It’s faster and far easier than attempting to keep them attached, and the less time spent without them, the better for Crowley.

Between the heat and the firm, but not painful pressure, Crowley isn’t long for the conscious world. He’s back to melting into his mattress, and the relief makes him too selfish to contemplate how he’s abandoning Aziraphale on their date night to do something as benign as sleep.

Crowley’s head presses against Aziraphale’s side, while the angel remains upright. True to his word, Aziraphale pulls out a book with multiple pieces of paper stuck inside. Work, rather than leisure, though the two may well be the same as far as Aziraphale and books are concerned.

“Thanksss, angel,” Crowley mumbles with his closed eyes and significantly less tense limbs.

“Anytime, my dear.”


End file.
